


It Was His Choice, But For You

by Sherlock1110



Series: Changes [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Feels, Gen, Happy Ending, Lots of Angst, Protective Big Brother Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-15 19:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 20,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5797531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John had always had a d/s relationship. When Sherlock 'died' he got with Mary who moved into Baker Street. Sherlock of course went home but John won't talk to him and leaves him alone.<br/>What happened next?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr
> 
> This is very angsty but I've been sitting on this for a while. 
> 
> Oh and Mrs. Hudson doesn't mean it. Not really.

Sherlock reflected on the week he had been home. He thought he had missed London, but it had been nothing but hell since he'd been back. He hadn't truly expected his relationship with John to be easy to fix, but he had assumed their friendship before he went was strong enough to make it worth it, apparently that was wrong. Because he hadn't really ever had a friend before, he had had nothing to compare it to, but maybe it wasn't as strong as he'd thought? With everything, with Moriarty and Irene Adler he thought that maybe they'd… bonded? Was that the right word? But instead John was just an ass whenever he was around.

His brother wouldn't talk to him. After returning from Serbia, he had at least expected some headway concerning his friendship with John, but nothing had happened, so he had refused to leave his room to work on the terrorist threat. Therefore Mycroft had been forced to do the 'leg work' alone, at least the threat was over now.

He'd upset Greg at the Yard when he had discussed the 'Jack the Ripper' book, something about imbeciles and complete monkeys and the only thing Greg bad shouted at him since was “I don't bloody know how John ever put up with you!” To be honest, Sherlock didn't know either, he also didn't know why he had bothered seeing as he wasn't now. Yes, he'd 'jumped' off Bart’s, but that was to save John's life, he knew that so why was he being such a… Sherlock couldn't even describe it anymore.

He had also been kicked out of Bart’s and Molly had made it perfectly clear he wasn't welcome around her anymore. Of everyone, he'd thought Molly would be the one to welcome him with open arms, she was the only one that had known about the plot and plan of him going into Eastern Europe in the first place. He believed he had done what John would call 'rubbed her up the wrong way.' He didn't care though, just like no one else did.

Despite not caring, he was annoyed about John, everything they'd been through together and all he had done was punch him in the face. He hadn't even let him explain properly, the annoyance and frustration bloomed deep in his belly.

He had naturally headed straight back to Baker Street to find Mrs. Hudson wasn't best pleased that he had never told her he wasn't dead. Again, it had been to save her life, why was she so bothered? She had begrudgingly given him his room back, but that was it, the flat wasn't his anymore and it wasn't even his room it was John's old one. She had also hit him with a frying pan so hard that he had seen stars. She hadn't even apologised, just informed him that Mary had moved in with John a long time ago. She had also hit him with the frying plan again when he'd gone down to see her. She had always complained he had never spent enough time with her so he went down for tea and cake, all he got was a smack to the back of the head with a larger frying pan than Sherlock knew existed. His head still hurt now and he had a horrible feeling it may have been concussion.

The knock on his bedroom door was the first he was aware that he wasn't home alone. He didn't answer, it was probably Mary, but it wouldn't be anything important. He had initially liked Mary quite a lot just after that first meeting. She seemed perfect for the old army doctor. He was glad John had found someone that was just as daring-do as he was, but he wanted to at least talk to the older man. He rolled over and looked in the other direction. He couldn't bear to see her, to think about everything he had lost, seemingly overnight and pretended not to care about.

“Sherlock?” It wasn't Mary, it was John. That was more than a bit surprising.

He rolled back over and sat up, John looked mad at something and the detective couldn't help but think he was going to get the blame for whatever it was. Probably rightly so.

“Could you clear your experiment off the table? Some of us need to eat.” The doctor’s tone had been brash and harsh, but Sherlock was used to that now. He'd been back almost a week and whenever the doctor spoke to him, it was either an order that he got glared at until he complied with or it was some running down. Either way it was spoken sternly and harshly. The experiment had been there a few days, an old cold case Greg has been so annoyed about.

Sighing, the detective nodded and pushed himself to his feet. He stumbled slightly and had to steady himself on the wall a moment. John just huffed impatiently, like he was doing it on purpose. He was going to point out he hadn't eaten for a while, but knew there was no point, John was angry, and an angry John was never a good thing. He didn't want to make it worse, the doctor hated him enough as it was, he'd also probably end up with Mary being upset if John complained. Mary hadn't done anything wrong, she didn't deserve to be upset because of him. He avoided contact as he passed the doctor and padded unsteadily down the stairs, relying too much on the rail.

He didn't bother packing the experiment up and placing it on the bottom shelf of the fridge, it's wasn’t like Greg or anyone would listen to the information about that cold case now anyway. Instead, he picked the whole lot up and placed it in the bin, including his microscope and test tubes, before taking the bag out.

John watched him in confusion, since when did he just bin his experiments? And where were the snarky remarks? And why was he taking the rubbish out? He never took the rubbish out. And was that his stupidly expensive microscope that was going out of the door.

Sherlock waited silently at the bottom of the stairs where John had frozen in the detective's rush out of the door, rather than pushing passed the older man.

When he realised he had paused, the doctor moved aside and head low, Sherlock headed up the stairs again; out of the way.

“Sherlock, do you fancy some-”

The door shut with a soft click behind him and John shook his head. If he wanted to be like that, then so be it.

***

“You really should speak to him, John,” Mary was sat back and relaxing watching the telly as the doctor pottered about picking up some odd things and finding a new home for them. He had been struggling to settle since Sherlock had got home. Mary was beginning to miss their snuggling time. He also barely slept.

“No.” He didn't look across at his near-fiancé just continued to fanny around. “He made his bed.”

“He is going to get ill.”

“That is his own fault!” John snapped.

“Damnit Watson, man up! He is your best friend, go and sort him out!”

“But he's not just my best friend is he? I mean he's not even that anymore. You know what we had before he jumped from Bart’s.”

“You said it wasn't sexual.”

“It wasn't. We slept together, but didn't… sleep together. It was a comfort thing, for both of us, as well as a punishment thing.”

“Punishment?”

“When he made ludicrous decisions at crime scenes and stuff.”

“Talk to him, John.”

“He is not my best friend anymore. He jumped off a building to kill himself in front of me. What sort of best friend does that? He doesn't want or need me to sort him out. He is a big boy. He was old enough to kill himself, he's old enough to look after himself. I'm done with him and this conversation.”

“He hasn't set foot out of his room in 4 days. He's already tried to explain that he jumped off Bart’s to save your life. Despite the fact Greg and Mycroft will not talk to him, they are worried-”

“Well, if Mycroft fucking Holmes is worried about his irate little brother, he can come around and deal with him.”

“And so am I worried. He did wrong John, but he doesn't deserve solitude.”

“It's his choice to be in his room.”

“Is it?” Mary snapped suddenly angry. Men! She changed the channel to something he knew John didn't like.

***

It was only an hour later when Mary couldn't stand it anymore, the thought of Sherlock upstairs on his own. Ignoring John's pointed look she walked passed him, climbed the stairs and entered the detective's bedroom with a quick knock on the door. He appeared, at first sight, to be asleep, but the trembles and sobs wracking through his body spoke otherwise. His sheet was on the floor, and he wore was a pair of sweat soaked pyjama bottoms. His whole top half was wet with sweat and his face was paler than she had ever seen it.

“John!” She yelled.

Her near-fiancé ignored her at first and she had to put her foot down. He needed to grow up!

“John Watson get your arse in here or there will be no sex for a month!”

The doctor had never moved so fast, he scrambled across the room and up the stairs. He crashed into the doorframe of Sherlock's bedroom in his haste.

What he saw brought a tear to his eye almost immediately, his heart leaped to his throat. Sherlock was laid out on his front, oblivious to the rest of the world, twirling a needle around his fingers.

“Sherlock Holmes! What the fuck do you think you are doing?” John barked.

The detective didn't even move, he was completely in his own headspace. John rushed forward telling Mary, “Grab a bowl of water and a cloth. Cold water.”

He snatched the needle from his grasp and red rimmed eyes glanced up at him in shock.

“How much, Sherlock?”

He looked away, annoyed.

“How much have you taken?!”

“Piss off, John.”

That angered the doctor, he dropped the needle on the side unit and thought through what he could do to get the sod's attention. Deciding, he grabbed his arms roughly, pulling them around behind him and sitting on his back.

“You are more than the drugs, Sherlock! You know this!” It sounded so old coming from his mouth, he hadn't uttered those words since the first year they had known each other; found a relationship that had worked for the both of them.

Sherlock didn't respond, he didn't even fight back, despite the fact his arms weren't in the most comfortable position.

“If you don't talk to me, Sherlock, I'll call Greg.”

There was no response, he didn't even blink.

“I'll call Mycroft.”

That was destined for a response, but the blond was wrong. Still nothing. Just then Mary reappeared with a bowl of water.

“How much have you taken, Sherlock?”

“Nothing, alright!” He spat.

“No! Not alright. Do you really expect me to believe that?”

“I don't give a shit what you believe.”

John growled.

“Why do you care anyway? Why are you even in here? Leave me alone to do whatever I want.”

“Because you're my best friend,” John answers the question, realising this was just what Mary had said mere hours ago.

“No,” Sherlock said conclusively, “I'm not.”

John froze, still pinning the younger man's arms behind him. “What?” He spluttered.

“I'm not your friend, let alone your best friend, you made that quite clear. I don't even know why I bothered coming back. What was it for? What was risking my life in Serbia even for? No one cares. Now get the fuck off me!”

John was startled into letting go and Sherlock struggled free. It was Mary who stopped him going any further. With unforeseen abilities, Mary had manoeuvred herself into a suitable position in front of the door. When the detective tried to push passed, she tackled him into the wall, gripped one arm and spun him around like John had and held him there, face squished sideways into the wall, his arm painfully up his back.

“Now, Sherlock,” she started, patience in abundance. Her boyfriend sat on the bed watching the pair gobsmacked, he would be no use for a moment or two. “Are you going to cooperate now?”

He just slouched in her grip whilst John continued to watch.

“Did you take anything?”

“No,” he said quietly, dejected. “I thought about it. Then I thought about all the reasons why I shouldn't and realised they didn't care at all so I was about to…”

“Sherlock what have I told you about the drugs?”

“You always used to say come to you and we'll do something to distract me. You'd tie me to the bed and tease me for hours on end. Seeing as you wouldn't even talk to me, I think my reasons for staying on my own are quite feasible don't you?”


	2. Chapter 2

John sighed.

Adrenaline had made Sherlock race to the door. At first glance Sherlock had looked high, but at second he looked ill. He was pale and shaking and sweating. He fell slack in Mary's grip.

“John, he's collapsed.”

“What?”

John's shock at what his near-wife had just done flew out of the window and he raced over to her. Mary wasn't strong enough to lift him up, so stepped back. John caught him and scooped the lanky man up into his arms. He carried him over to the bed and laid him out so he was flat.

“Get my kit?”

Mary nodded and headed off. She returned moments later and John pushed his hand in searching for his torch.

He looked into his eyes. “He's concussed. How the hell did that happen? He hasn't left this room in days.” He reached for the cloth and tried to cool him down as he was still sweating. “He's also severely dehydrated.

Mary took that as a hint and went through to the kitchen to fetch a glass.

“Sherlock,” John rocked him. “Sherlock I need you to wake up.”

He groaned and his eyes flickered open. “John?”

“Yeah, it's me.”

Sherlock seemed to come back to himself and realised where he was. “What do you want?” He grumbled.

“To check that you're okay.”

“Why?”

“Because you're clearly concussed.”

“No, I mean. Why do you care? You've barely spoken to me all week,” the detective's voice was shallow, but he was doing a good job of pretending it wasn't.

“To be honest Sherlock, you turning up out of the blue when I thought you were dead was more than a bit not good.”

“Fine, you've made your point and I've said I'm sorry, now leave.” He rolled over and pulled the sheet up and over him.

“Sherlock Holmes if you think I'm leaving you then there is something seriously wrong.”

The sheet when tense as Sherlock did and he spat, “What? Aren't machines meant to be alone?”

John swallowed the lump of emotion in his throat, that had been one of the last things he'd said to him before he'd… before he'd 'jumped'.

“Sherlock, I didn't mean that. Mrs. Hudson was in danger and you didn't care…”

“I knew she was alright! It was clearly a diversion. Do you really think I would let anything happen to her? If you honestly believed that maybe we didn't have the friendship I thought we did.”

“Sherlock, it can't be that bad,” Mary made her way over and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Ask him if that's a lie.”

Mary didn't need to she glanced at the doctor and his look said it all.

“Can we just forget about this for a moment?”

“I don't even want to talk about it, get out.”

“Sherlock-”

The younger man rolled over and glared at him over his shoulder.

“No! I came home for you John! For you and Greg and Mycroft and Mrs. Hudson and what do I get in return? Fuck all! I've apologised for leaving, you know why I had to and yet when I keep out of the way, literally, in a bedroom that isn't really mine in a flat where I'm not really wanted I'm still in the fucking wrong. Now get out!”

The room was silent, not the comfortable silence that had so often filled the whole flat when Sherlock was in his Mind Palace, but an awkward silence that none of them knew how to fill. Sherlock didn't even want to fill it. He had been fine on his own.

John noticed his shivering increase and when he rolled to the edge of the bed and vomited violently over the side he knew he couldn't leave him.

“Sherlock,” he rubbed at his back, smooth circles that should hopefully feel soothing. The detective shrugged him off or at least attempted to until he was sick again. “I need to know how you got the concussion Sherlock.”

“Why? So you can do it again.” He coughed.

“Of course not,” he looked up at his near-fiancé and she smiled sadly at him but nodded encouragingly. “So I can help.”

Sherlock rolled his legs off the side of the bed and stumbled slightly, using the wall to steady himself.

John stood with the younger man. “It's not wise you standing up, please sit back down.” He raised his hand to his arm to help him back to the bed, but Sherlock flailed it around to get out of his grip and fell backwards, he slid down the wall in a heap and wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Mary, call Mycroft,” John ordered softly.

“Sure,” she said, closing the door behind her. She understood they needed space, Sherlock had been in the wrong, but John had been an idiot and had a lot to answer for.

The truth was, John had been hoping for a rise from the man still sat on the floor, but he hadn't even looked up. Did he honestly not care anymore? Maybe he didn't, and it was his fault.

***

Sherlock flinched at the sound of the door downstairs. There were some quick greetings between Mary and Mycroft, as well as Greg, who had also seemed to join the British Government on his no doubt 'rant at his baby brother' field trip.

Mary had said half an hour and since then, John had been stood at the door, his arms folded, watching the younger man, the man he used to be so close to sit in the corner. He daren't take his eyes off him because he hadn't had the chance to get rid of Sherlock's stash and if he left the room then he would do God knows what. His arms hadn't moved from around his legs and he still hadn't found out how Sherlock had managed to get concussed since he'd been practically Baker Street bound for a week.

The door swung in and John stepped out of the way. Sherlock didn't move at all, it barely looked like he was breathing.

When Mycroft's eyes fell on the stash of drugs on the bedside table, it was clear to John that Mary hadn't mentioned it.

“Sherlock Holmes!” He barked. He threw his umbrella onto the bed and marched over to his brother's side, he hauled him to his feet, by his shirt collar. “What the bloody hell have you done?”

“Go away, Myc,” he moaned. He tried to fight him off, but he had no strength. So his hits just made him look drunk. Or high.

“Sherlock! After the last time. You promised me. You promised me you wouldn't do this again.” Mycroft's voice sounded like it was breaking apart at the seams.

John didn't know what to do, but he couldn't stand and watch one of the greatest men that he'd ever met be in such a state. He knew he was partially responsible, but there was nothing he could do at the moment. He would just leave him to Mycroft. Go downstairs… distract himself.

“John,” Mycroft interrupted his thoughts as Greg entered the room. “Go with Mary. Go out for the evening. This will all be sorted by the time you get back.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Thanks for phoning me. I'll sort it.”

He nodded. “Okay. Sherlock will that be alright?”

The younger Holmes didn't even act like he'd been addressed. John sighed and took Mary's hand.

Mycroft wasn't prepared to do anything further until the other two had left so he waited until the door had opened and closed before he continued.

“Well, Sherlock?”

The detective didn't offer a response. He couldn't be bothered and there'd be no point.

“Fine.” He shoved him towards Greg. “Arrest him.”

The DI nodded. He pulled unprotesting hands around behind him and cuffed his wrists. Sherlock offered no protest the whole way out of 221 and even climbed into the back seat of the car without complaint.

“Are you seriously going to let him go down for this?”

“He needs to realise his actions have consequences!”

“I get that, Myc, I really do. He's been banned from helping at the Yard, Molly won't let him in the Morgue. And he has 10 sq. foot of his flat left. Do you not think he's been punished enough?”

“I was annoyed with him for refusing to help with the terrorist threat.”

“He refused because John punched him in the face and wouldn't talk to him for a week.”

Mycroft slumped back against the wall. “I know. But he promised me about the drugs, Gregory, he made a promise and he broke it.”

The DI shrugged and turned to look at the car. Sherlock's head was clearly visible, but he was deflated, his shoulders pulled back and his head low. He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Get in.”


	3. Chapter 3

When John and Mary got back to Baker Street, it was to find an empty flat. Even Mrs. Hudson was out.

“Bollocks,” John growled. He kicked Sherlock's bedroom door shut as he realised his flatmate had gone.

“We shouldn't have left.”

John shook his head, Mary didn't know the older Holmes as much as she needed to and if she was going to be friends with Sherlock Holmes she would definitely need to.

“Mycroft would have forced us if we hadn't gone by choice. What did you say to him on the phone, because I know you didn't mention the drugs.”

“I just said that Sherlock was in a bad way and could do with his brother's support.” She shrugged. “It worked. He came.”

“Except now Mycroft's taken him. He had Greg with him, so Sherlock is no doubt sat in a cell in New Scotland Yard right now. For the first time ever, that is an incredibly bad thing.”

“Maybe he just needs some space.”

“He's had space all week and look where that got him.”

“I told you, you cared! You could have dealt with this days ago.”

John sighed and slumped back against the chair. “I know. I was angry and I didn't want to think about it. Or him.” John ran his hands over his face then looked up. “Hold on, Mycroft didn't know about the drugs… so he doesn't know Sherlock didn't take any, or that he has concussion.”

“No,” Mary agreed. “That could be dangerous…”

“Then Sherlock really is being punished for no reason!”

John zipped his coat back up. “I'm going to get him.” He raced back down the stairs and was pleasantly surprised when he heard Mary's footsteps behind him.

Mary grabbed her own coat she had slipped out of. “Me too.”

***

John looked through the small bars at the front of the cell Sherlock was in. He was sat on the bunk staring at the floor, oblivious to the fact he was being watched. His arms were pulled back behind him, but he seemed content, for once, to do nothing. A few years ago he would be kicking off about how bored he was and how dull the concrete cell was.

He marched back to the custody suite and Greg encouraged him into his office where Mycroft and Mary were already sat nursing cups of tea from the vending machine. “Why is he handcuffed?” He demanded.

It was Mycroft who answered. “I don't trust him not to hurt himself.”

“If he wanted to hurt himself he would have already been out of those cuffs. He's not self-destructing, he's just turned himself off. You know that! You're just punishing him more. You know he didn't take a hit, right?”

“Of course he did. You saw the drugs on the side table. He had touched them, they were ready for use.”

John wasn't even going to ask how he knew that. “I put them there. Mary found him in like this trance state. He didn't know what he was doing. I snatched them off him, but he hadn't scored. This won't work Mycroft!” John snapped. “He's not high, he's angry.”

“He has every right to be angry.” Mary interrupted the British Government's response, her own voice hard, protective already and she hardly knew the man. “He jumped to save you! You have been an arse to him since he's been back and that in return has made him an arse to everyone else. I love you, John, but you have to fix this. You are the only one who can. It's not right.”

“You've also seen the state of him,” Mycroft pointed out. “He's all over the place.” For some reason Mycroft was okay with Mary being involved with this, it was like the day he'd met one Doctor John Watson. There were very few people in the world who weren't intimidated by him, they were the three sat in this office and the one sat in a cell down the corridor.

“He's concussed, Mycroft. Not high!”

John stood up, intent on ignoring the older Holmes, he knew he'd messed up, but Mycroft would admit his own failings. Well, not without John first being proven right.

He pushed open Greg's office door and marched through the corridor, up to the custody desk. “Let Sherlock Holmes go.”

“Excuse me?” The officer asked with a raised eyebrow.

“He has committed no crime, for once in his life, and he also has concussion. Let me see to him before you have a death on your conscience as well as my boot.”

“Was that a threat, sir?”

“Damn right it was!”

“Let him in,” the DI ordered from behind the doctor. “We won't win with him fighting Sherlock's corner.”

John could be as scary as Mycroft, but it was worse because the doctor was scary without being the British Government.

Sighing, the custody sergeant threw the keys to Greg who, in turn, gave them to John.

The doctor let himself into the cell and closed the door behind him, hoping for some privacy, but not really expecting it.

Sherlock hadn't moved since John had watched him for those few minutes, he was frozen in place, like a statue.

“Sherlock? It's me.”

There was no response, but he hadn't really been expecting one.

“How's your head feeling?”

Again, no response. “At least tell me when it happened.” John leant forward and tilted his head back. Sherlock's eyes weren't focused on anything and they were watery with emotion. John's heart broke, he had never seen him like that before.

“If I release the cuffs, will you do anything to hurt yourself?”

Sherlock's head just dropped lower, as if in disappointment. He didn't want to hurt himself he just didn't want to exist. There was a difference he was sure.

John let his wrists free, ready to use the cuffs again if he needed, but he didn't, Sherlock's hands just flopped forward, he didn't even rub at the skin around his wrists.

John caught his chin again and peered into his eyes. “You've had this concussion for a few days haven't you? And I didn't notice! Damnit! Yesterday when you cleared up your experiment, you stumbled… you struggled down the stairs, all I did was glare at you.” John was overcome with guilt. He had thought he had felt bad before he'd come into the cell, but that was nothing. His friend had been ill and had needed his help and all he had done was yell at him with that tone of voice he knew always got him what he wanted and glared.

Sherlock hadn't bothered to tell him he hurt. Hadn't bother to tell him his head was spinning, he had just struggled down the stairs and done exactly what John had asked without complaint. Just from that alone, John should have seen there was something up. Sherlock complying without a fight? A clear shout for help.

He sat himself down on the bunk beside the younger man and couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arm around his shoulders. His heart broke a little bit more at the small sob that was elicited in response. “Oh Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have been such a prat, I should have seen you were hurting. That you needed me. Instead I just yelled at you or ignored you.” He swallowed around the emotion. “I let you down, and you just took it. Without complaint.” He squeezed his shoulders again and finally, finally Sherlock's head came to rest on his shoulder. The detective turned and wrapped his arms around the doctor.

“What were you doing when you got the concussion, Sherlock?”

“You and Mary were at work,” he hiccoughed. “I went to see Mrs. Hudson, she always used to complain we were too busy to see her, so I figured… well I was wrong. She hit me with her frying pan.”

John would have laughed if it wasn't for the circumstances. He wanted to be angry with their landlady, but he couldn't, Sherlock coming back had been one hell of a shock, but maybe he could talk to her, get her to apologise. Maybe it might make Sherlock's spiral into depression spin the other way.

“Are you ready to go home?”

“I only just got here. This is on Mycroft's orders. He won't let me go.” He seemed resigned to the fact and it wasn't a pretty version of the detective.

“He will if I have anything to do with it.”

Sherlock's chuckle was dry and it made him cough. “Not even the Queen herself could persuade Mycroft to do something he didn't want to do.”

That made John laugh in return. “He knows you didn't use the drugs now. He has no reason to keep you here.”

“John?”

“Yeah?”

“My head hurts.”

“I know.” He pulled his head down and ran his hands through the smooth silk curls until he found a bump. “We'll put some ice on that when we get home.”

“I'm not coming home. At least not to Baker Street.”

“What? Why not?”

“I'll get my own flat somewhere. Hopefully we can still be friends?” He asked sheepishly.

“Oh Sherlock, I never should have made you think we weren't. You are my friend. My best friend and you are welcome at Baker Street. You always will be.”

Sherlock shook his head. “I'm not. I think I was once, but not anymore.”

“I'll speak to Mrs. Hudson and I already know Mary will be fine with it, she's taken an immediate liking to you.”

“That's not who I meant.”

“Me?” John was surprised. “Of course I want you around.”

“It's not fair. Not with you and Mary. I'll just remind you of the past.”

“But it's not the past, we still have each other. We can make new memories now.” Sherlock didn't seem too sure. “Together. And with Mary.”


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft was sat in his jaguar outside 221. Greg was sat next to him, but he didn't have what felt like a lifetime's worth of guilt crushing him. He'd been on Sherlock's side. Greg had brought up what he'd been through enough these last few months, but he hadn't listened. Mycroft had seen the worst in his baby brother when he hadn't actually done anything wrong. He should have realised his brother's stumbling and behaviour was concussion and not drugs. He'd seen his brother high enough times to know when he was and when he wasn't. And he was the British Government, the most intelligent man on the planet, or that's how he had seen himself before he'd been a complete imbecile when it came to his baby brother. He had been blinded by his anger and had had Greg take him in because he was hurt that Sherlock hadn't gone to him when he needed his older brother the most. He made himself feel worse by realising that there was not a hope in hell Sherlock would have come to him. They had been starting to get close again which was maybe thanks to John, but he had been too angry with him once he'd got back from Serbia after the terrorist threat for Sherlock to even think of going to him.

Mary had gone home first to dispose of any dangerous substances Sherlock could get his hands on. Mycroft had given her all the locations it would be if it was hidden. She had also placed all the knives in one place so they could keep an eye on them. She found it odd that it felt like she was baby-proofing the flat.

When a black cab pulled up outside of 221, just behind the already parked Jaguar Sherlock refused to get out. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at the floor.

“Come on, Sherlock.”

“I'm not getting out if he's in there.”

John placed his hand on the younger man's shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

John had made Mycroft, literally made him, release Sherlock without any consequences. They're the ones who should have consequences for letting him down. Not Sherlock.

“This is just as much my fault as it is Mycroft's.”

“You got me out. Mycroft would have had me in rehab.”

“Just because I was angry doesn't mean I hate you Sherlock, it's the same for Mycroft I'm sure.”

“No, but it means things will never be like they were before.”

“No, they won't,” the doctor agreed. “That doesn't mean to say they'll be worse. Our friendship will be stronger now than it ever was.”

“No it won't, you've got Mary. And as for my relationship with my brother. Was it ever there?”

“Oh, 'Lock, it so was.” Sherlock hadn't realised the cab window had been open and Mycroft had heard the whole thing. He opened the door from the outside. “Thank you, John, for sticking up for me. But my brother is right, this is my fault. I should have found a safer way for him to get out of Moriarty's trap and I didn't.”

“I thought it was Sherlock's idea to use jumping as an escape?” The blond shivered at the thought of that day outside Bart's, but it was 1000 times worse for Sherlock, having to do it and then disappear.

The doctor climbed out of the cab as Mycroft had paid the cabby through the window of the front door. He gave him extra with a snarled, “You didn't hear a word of this.” The driver nodded and sped off, sure to be caught by the nearest camera for speeding. Sherlock had only got out because his brother had waved a cigarette in his face.

“Why are you letting me smoke, Mycroft? You were so sure of yourself earlier, you had your boyfriend arrest me.”

“It's only one, Sherlock,” his brother responded, his words were soft. “And after the day you've had you deserve it.”

“Whatever.” He shoved the cigarette into his pocket and kicked the door open to 221, ignoring his headache. He stopped on the bottom step resting his head in his hands.

“Sherlock,” John called, chasing after him. He hadn't thought he would get to him so close to where he'd run, but realised it was definitely the concussion that had made him stop.

“Fuck off, John.”

It was at this point that Mrs. Hudson appeared.

“Sherlock Holmes, you will watch your language in my house! And especially to poor John.”

The detective flinched, the older woman had sounded just like his mother had when she had visited him the first and only time in rehab. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson,” he murmured.

She froze at the sight of him on the bottom step.

“What have you done?” Her voice was cold, but laced with concern.

“Nothing, Mrs. Hudson,” he whispered, not looking up at her.

“He has concussion,” John informed her. “The frying pan you hit him with, I believe?”

The detective was shivering now, and as the front door closed and Mycroft stepped over, he reached around his folded up knees and was sick on the floor. He didn't bother to wipe his mouth with his hand, just rubbed it into his trousers, and leant into the wall.

“Come on, Sherlock, let's get you upstairs.”

“I'm fine!” He croaked.

“You're clearly not,” Mrs. Hudson interrupted. “I'm so sorry, Sherlock dear, I didn't mean to hurt you.”

He nodded once and immediately regretted it as his vision doubled once again. John was still in doctor mode and held his hand to the back of the detective's head. “Come on, let's get you upstairs,” he repeated, trying to help him up.

“Oh, Sherlock, I was, I didn't-”

“Maybe you should put the kettle on, Mrs. Hudson,” Mycroft asked her, but it was more of an order that she daren't decline.

“Of course,” she bustled back into her flat, tears welling in her eyes.

“I'm going to carry you, okay?”

Sherlock didn't respond, but John didn't care, he needed to be up in their flat, somewhere he knew well, and was comfortable, seeing as he couldn't sleep.

Up in 221B, Mary was puttering around waiting for her boyfriend. She didn't know what to do or what to say when he walked in carrying the detective. Mycroft followed looking nothing but morose.

John settled the younger man into the chair so he could get comfortable, but he didn't move, just stayed where he had been slouched. The doctor sighed and helped him up into a much more comfortable position.

“When was the last time you ate, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

“Why do you care?”

The government official knelt down in front of him and took his face in his hands. “Because you are my baby brother. I shouldn't have reacted the way that I did, for which I'm sorry, now please, please let me put this right.”

“And me,” the doctor willingly agreed.


	5. Chapter 5

It was the following morning and Sherlock was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling.

John pushed the door open without knocking first and stood leaning against the door frame, his arms folded.

Sherlock didn't do anything to suggest he knew was there, but the doctor knew he did.

“Are you getting up, Sherlock?”

“No.”

“But you've been awake for hours.”

“So?”

“Come and see everyone.”

Sherlock just rolled over. He was still angry and in John's opinion, he had every right to be.

The doctor perched himself on the edge of the bed and rested his hand on the lump that would be Sherlock's waist. “Come on, everyone wants to see you.”

“No, they don't.”

“Of course they do.”

“If they wanted to see me they would have seen me last week.”

Sighing, the doctor laid down next to the younger man. He let one arm drape over him so he could shake out of it if he wanted. He didn't though.

“You can't hide in here forever.”

“Why can't I?”

“Because we all want to apologise to you.”

“Well, maybe I don't want to hear it.”

John lay there for a long while with the detective. It was so long, he thought the younger man had fallen asleep, but it wasn't until there was a knock on the door that he realised Sherlock was crying, his shoulders shaking slightly.

It was Mary at the door. She blinked at the sight of them laid next to each other. “What are you…”

“Please don't, Mary.”

Mary noticed the detective was crying and nodded, still not overly sure if she understood what John was up to. “Mycroft's here,” she said.

“Okay.”

She closed the door behind her.

Sherlock's crying increased threefold at the sound of the door closing.

“Do you not want to see your brother?”

He didn't answer the question, just asked another one. “You said everyone's here. Who's everyone?”

“There's Mycroft, Greg.”

“Hates me,” the detective interrupted

“Molly.”

“Hates me.”

“Mary. Mrs. Hudson.”

“Hates me.”

“Sherlock, they don't all hate you. In fact, none of them do.” He leant over the younger man and brushed his curls back from his eyes. Grey-green eyes met his and the hurt that was there was unmistakable.

“They do. Greg won't give me cases anymore. I'm not allowed in Bart’s because I said something I shouldn't have done to Molly and Mrs. Hudson hit me with her frying pan so hard you wouldn't let me sleep all last night.”

“Let them say sorry and take all that back.”

“Why should I? They never gave me the chance.” Something in Sherlock told him he may have been making a mountain out of a molehill here, but the other part of him, the bigger part was telling him he had that right.

“You gave me the chance.”

“You're different. I have to live here. With you.”

Sherlock grabbed the sheet and pulled it over himself. “They won't mean it. It'll be because you're forcing them or Mycroft's blackmailing them.”

“Do you really think that little of your friendships?”

“I never had friends. Not before you. We both saw how that worked out. So yes, I do think so little. I have to forgive Mycroft, he's my brother. And I have to forgive you because otherwise I will have nowhere to sleep. I'm not naive enough to think one of my 'friends' would help.”

Tears were making themselves known in the doctor's eyes. He rolled on top of the detective and crushed him in a hug, which the younger man tried to fight his way out of. “No,” John choked. “Stop struggling. Let me hug you.”

Sherlock's eyes flickered to the blond's own and he just broke down in tears again.

“I lied. Of course they are - were my friends,” he sobbed. “I'm just not used to…”

“Shh,” the doctor interrupted, squeezing him tightly. “I'm here, now. I'm not ever letting you go again.”

“What about Mary?”

“She'll understand. She knows how close I was to you.”

“Was?” He sobbed again.

“I meant, am. She knows how close to you I am and she wouldn't dream of getting in the way of that.”

Sherlock held him tightly. “I missed you. It was a very long two years. Time really did feel like it was standing still.”


	6. Chapter 6

It had taken a lot of convincing and lot of comfort whilst laying on his bed for John to persuade him to leave his room, but he now had the detective by the hand and was leading him from the bedroom. “It's alright,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” Sherlock whispered back, non-commitedly. He was only doing this for John.

The sitting room went oddly silent when John pushed the door in. Mary was sat on the sofa, a glass of champagne in her hand, Mrs. Hudson was there too with her own glass of champagne. They had obviously been talking amongst themselves, after smiling at the detective slightly, they went back to it, not wanting to overcrowd him, which he was eternally grateful for.

It took Sherlock a moment to realise they were celebrating, but he didn't know what. What sort of events warranted a bottle of champagne anyway? He didn't really care.

Greg was in John's chair and Mycroft was stood behind him, his hands atop the DI's shoulders. On the sofa, Molly was sat next to someone that made the detective blink twice at. He didn't comment, though, and she didn't look up to speak to him which made Sherlock question whether he was grateful for or annoyed by.

The doctor smiled reassuringly to the younger man as he pulled his hand free.

“Alright?” John asked, seeing him hide his hands in his pockets.

He nodded once. “Fine,” he mumbled.

John could see he wasn't, but thought to let him have a moment alone. He moved across the room and kissed his near-fiancé, then it hit Sherlock square in the face what they were celebrating.

“Oh, I'm really pleased, Mary. Have you set a date?” Mrs. Hudson stopped him from saying it.

“We thought May.”

“Oh, spring wedding!”

Mycroft noticed his brother still by the door so moved to join him. Sherlock stepped back slightly, he didn't want to be here, here being this sitting room, here being with these people, here being Baker Street. He didn't leave though, he'd promised John.

“Once we've actually got engaged.” She glanced at John who smiled slightly, but didn't speak. Then she looked to Sherlock. “We were interrupted last time.”

Mycroft watched his brother's response. He smiled slightly, apologetically, but it didn't reach his eyes. John obviously noticed too. The detective didn't speak, just walked towards the window, glancing out at the weather.

“You will be there, Sherlock,” it wasn't a question.

He glanced over his shoulder, not sure how well he was hiding his hurt. “Weddings. Not really my thing.”

The doctor seemed to be happy that the younger man was joking, so he dropped to one knee, pulling the ring from his pocket. “Second attempt?”

Mary grinned, widely. She didn't even let him propose properly, just snatched the box from his hand. “Of course I will, you donut!”

John sighed in relief. “Thank god. Spring it is then.” Looking at Sherlock, he saw his smile and nodded, almost thankfully.

“Shall we move this to the pub then?” Greg offered, the game was on and he knew Mary wouldn't let John have the sports channel.

John again looked to Sherlock to check that would be okay and when he nodded, he agreed too.

“Mycroft?” The DI reached up to take his boyfriend's hand, but he was more interested in watching his brother who had gone back to staring out the window at the night sky of London.

He moved over, cautiously, and placed his hand on his shoulder. “You alright, 'Lock?” This time he was pleasantly surprised that Sherlock didn't shrug away from him. He looked over his shoulder and up at him, smiling sadly. He nodded once.

“Come on, then,” he encouraged him with the others. Mrs. Hudson and Mary were already heading down the stairs.

The detective's eyes darted to the doctor's. “Me too?” He asked in confusion.

“Of course, wouldn't go without you, would we?” Mycroft's hand tightened on his shoulder as John spoke.

Sherlock looked down, nervously biting his bottom lip, pretty sure at some point in the last week, at least once, the pair had gone out without him.

He followed the rest of the crowd down the stairs, but forgot his key, conveniently. A chance to be on his own for a moment.

As he ran back into the house, he didn't realise John had got everyone to wait.

As he pulled the door closed behind him, he noticed everyone stood chatting, waiting for him. He sniffed indignantly and then caught Molly's eye, she was the only one glaring and she rolled her eyes at him.

He couldn't do this. These people, they cared about him, he could see it in their eyes, but it was like they didn't want to. Especially Molly, sweet innocent Molly, what had he done to her? What had he done to all of them? Why did he fuck everything up? He couldn't be with them. Any of them.

He dumped his key in his pocket and ran in the opposite direction.

“Fuck,” John growled. One glance at Mary and he took off after him, sure that even if she had called a 'no' after him, that he would have ignored it and gone anyway.

“I'll send a car!” Mycroft called after him.

There was no response from the doctor as he rounded the corner, but Mycroft hadn't expected one. He heard someone mutter ''attention seeking” and turned to glare at Molly. She was up on her toes whispering in her boyfriend's ear.

“I strongly suggest you leave, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft growled. Greg's hand on his arm stopping him from doing anything further.

She seemed well enough cowed from just the glare, but the words seemed to resonate through her.

Mycroft turned to Tim? Tom? Something like that. “And I don't care what sick joke you're playing, you will not come back with the aim of deliberately upsetting my brother again. Either of you.”

“Sick joke? I don't know who you think you-” It was the first time anyone except Molly had heard this new man speak.

“Let's go,” Molly cut him off, aware of the threat Mycroft Holmes really presented. She pushed him across the road so they could grab a cab.

“Shall we reconvene inside?” The government official asked. He was happy with who was left. The concussion had been Mrs. Hudson's fault, but she seemed genuinely sorry and she had done a lot for Sherlock over the years. Mary had somehow, just like John, had been taken by his baby brother from the off. And Gregory. Well, Greg was Greg. He pulled the key from his pocket to let them in.

“You have a key to my house… well of course you do,” Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes. “I have some cakes freshly baked this morning if anyone's interested?”

Greg pushed his way through. “Yes please.”


	7. Chapter 7

John caught up with Sherlock nearly a mile away. He'd run very fast and the doctor had struggled to keep him in sight. He had always thought himself a fast runner, but Sherlock's height meant he had a considerable leg length advantage. He reckoned if he was 6 inches taller, keeping up with the younger man would be a breeze. Sherlock had sunk to the wet floor, his coat tail out behind him. He had his face buried in his knees and his arms wrapped around then. At first sight he looked lost, at the second glance he looked even worse.

“Don't bother, John,” he moaned without looking up. The running had not done his head any good and he had needed to stop. He should have known the blond would find him. He always did.

“Don't be like this, Sherlock,” the doctor said softly.

The detective didn't move. He seemed to be barely breathing.

“What? Scared that if you let me out of your sight for more than a minute I'll end up in the nearest drug den? Or even better in a ditch?”

“Yes, frankly. Yes.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, frowning deeply. “I'm extremely worried about you. Not just physically, but emotionally as well.”

“Why do you care? I'm an adult, John, in case you hadn't noticed. A fully functioning 34 year old. I can do what I like when I like and you can't do a bloody thing about it.”

“I used to. I used to be able to do something about it. And it kills me knowing I could have made this last week so much better.”

“I jumped for you, John. You and Greg. And Mrs. Hudson. But what does she do? Hits me with a frying pan, hard enough that you think I should be in hospital. And Molly. Molly knew. She knew from the start and yet a few harsh words that I muttered when I got back and she's suddenly a rock in my shoe.”

The doctor sank down next to the younger man. “I wish I could fix this,” he whispered.

“Well, you can't. There's no point even trying.”

“You're not going to stop me from trying, Sherlock, no matter what you say. You know what I'm like. I screwed up, I will do my best to unscrew up.”

“Well go and do it somewhere else and leave me alone,” he grumbled, turning back to bury his face in his knees again.

The blond moved to rest his hand on his arm, but Sherlock shrugged it off violently.

“I need to be alone,” he repeated.

“Hate me as much as you like. That is not going to happen.”

He wrapped his arms strongly around the detective so he couldn't shrug him off. It took a while but eventually Sherlock's head sunk down onto John's shoulder and he sobbed out an extremely depressing hiccough.

“I don't know what's wrong with me,” he choked out. “I've never felt like this before. I even want Mycie. I haven't wanted him since I was 9.”

“Well, you know Mycroft, he's already on his way, tracking you from the off.”

The detective turned his head and buried it in the older man's shoulder. It felt like an age that he sat there, snuggled into John like a toddler.

“I want things to be the way they were,” he whispered. Hoping he could go back, but knowing even if he could find a way there was nothing he could have done better. If he had just walked back down the stairs, three of the only people who ever tolerated him would now be dead and the work he put in to Serbia would be undone.

John continued to run his hand through his hair, soothing him like he had so many years ago. “I know you do.”

It was then that headlights illuminated the both of them and Mycroft's car pulled up. Before the door had even opened to reveal the elder Holmes, Sherlock was on his feet and running at the car.

Mycroft held his arms out before he had fully straightened up and grabbed his brother tightly as he cannoned into him, leaving his umbrella on the floor. “You worry me so much, 'Lock.”

John straightened himself out and dusted down his jeans that were now incredibly mucky. He glanced over at his flatmate that still hadn't been released from his brother's embrace.

“I don't want to go home,” he whispered.

“It's okay, little one. Miss Hooper is no longer at Baker Street.”

“But what about Mary?”

“Mary will be fine with you being there, 'Lock. I promise. It's as much your home as it is mine.”

He looked over and met the doctor's eye.

“Mrs. Hudson…”

“Is also fine. She's also sorry, Sherlock,” his brother said softly. “I would not have allowed you back there otherwise, would I?”

“Don't know what you would or wouldn't do anymore,” he said quietly.

Sighing in guilt, Mycroft wrapped his arms around him again. “Home then?” He glanced at the doctor who was looking extremely distant as well as showing the obvious traces of guilt.

Mycroft's slight nod said everything as he encouraged his extremely dirty little brother in to the car. They would fix this. However they had to go about it. They would fix it. Together.


	8. Chapter 8

Days passed and John had finally convinced Sherlock to take a case. He had barely spoken in that time. He was either laying on his bed or sat on the sofa staring into space. John and Mary both had tried to engage him in conversation. He merely answered with a few quiet words or shrugged.

“You ready, Sherlock?” John asked from his bedroom door.

The detective was now sat on his bed staring at his shoes on the chair that was against the wall. It was only there so either John or Mary or Mycroft, on occasion, could sit watch.

They tried to get a rise from him, but Sherlock didn't comment. He just slept or stared at the ceiling.

The doctor moved into the room and sat next to the younger man.

“It'll be alright, Sherlock. You can even make comments at Donovan. Greg said he was looking forward to it.” John moved to the chair and picked up the shoes that had held his attention for so long. He knelt down in front of him and held them out. Sherlock didn't move. “Lift your left leg up, 'Lock.”

It was like a switch inside him. The order made him comply just like it used to. His leg rose in an almost mechanic way.

“I know what you want, Sherlock,” John said sadly. “I just strongly doubt it's what you need.”

“Yeah,” he whispered. He lifted his other foot when John tapped it and his shoe was slotted into place.

The blond held his hand out for him and was most surprised when Sherlock took it. They only paused to get their coats. For once, John found himself glad Mary was out of the flat, he didn't think it would be awkward, but he was glad for some alone time with the detective.

He held his hand until they climbed into the back of the cab. For once, John gave the destination, seeing as it was him that had spoken to Greg.

Sherlock remained quiet, staring out of the window as London flew by them.

As they headed up a pathway, John couldn't help but reach out and flip his collar up. “I'm sorry, Sherlock, but you're just not you without it.”

He smiled in response, but it was thin.

“Ah, Freak,” Donovan came out the front of the house. “Going to walk around like you own the place for a while, are you?”

Sherlock didn't bite at the taunt, just went along with it. There was no point in Sherlock arguing. It wouldn't achieve anything, it wouldn't even make him feel better.

She frowned slightly at the lack of snarling, but walked them in the direction of the door. Sherlock's eyes darted around briefly, but he didn't take in as much as normal. It was fairly obvious his head was some place else. John only wished this crime scene would be more successful in helping him rather than the alternative.

Sherlock climbed the stairs as the last of the three of them and followed Donovan into the indicated room.

“Alright mate?” Greg asked as they walked in. John grinned stepping forward to pat him on the back.

“How you doing, Sherlock?”

He just nodded once.

“The bodies are through here.” He led them through, leaving his sergeant out in the hall.

3 men were lined in one corner. One was sat up, the other two laid out at an awkward angle.

Sherlock moved forward, but didn't race about with the enthusiasm he usually had. He crouched down beside the bodies ready to examine them. At the same time the doctor moved closer to Greg, the grey-haired man leant forward.

“How's he doing?” He whispered in his ear.

John shrugged. “Not great. It's not even like he's angry. He just seems resigned to the fact he's back. Dejected even.”

“You'll fix it, John, I have faith in that.”

“I wish I could say I believed you, mate, we were so rotten to him… and when it sunk in about how he had done it and why…” he trailed off in a shrug when Sherlock straightened once again.

“Need a medical opinion?” The doctor asked.

Sherlock glanced over at the two older men. “It's ok,” he said softly. “You don't have to, Anderson can take a look.”

“You never work with my team, Sherlock.”

The detective just shrugged. “About time I learnt then, isn't it?”

“What about me? I can help,” John moved over, but Sherlock was shaking his head.

“You don't want to be here. Not really, if I work with Anderson you don't have to be.”

“Who told you that?” John asked, suddenly mad with whoever had said it.

“It doesn't matter. If I wasn't being such an idiot I would have deduced it from the start.”

“You didn't deduce it, Sherlock, because it's absolute bollocks.”

The detective headed to the door. “Anderson?”

“No, Sherlock, wait!” John grabbed his arm. “Greg, close the door.”

When the DI complied, John wrapped his arms around the taller man. “I want to be here. I enjoy the crime scenes with you and even the mad chases.”

John stepped back when Sherlock just stood their awkwardly. He sighed, he knew what to do to fix this situation.

“Talk me through the bodies.” It was an order, but sort of hidden. Greg wouldn't notice, but the straightening of Sherlock's shoulders told John he had taken it as such. He sighed again. With Sherlock as compliant as this anyone could order him and he was more than likely to comply.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock had been getting better as time progressed. He was beginning to realise that not everyone hated him or was angry with him anymore. He had even started helping Mary with the wedding preparations. John continued to distract him making sure he was being run on cases and kept entertained but the closer the wedding got the less and less Sherlock wanted to go out.

John had left it as long as he could but he had to tell Sherlock he was moving out. He and Mary had found a new house just outside London. It would be perfect for when they started a family of their own.

When he had finally got around to telling him he was feeling incredibly guilty. Sherlock just shrugged it off, saying, “it's not like I'm incapable of looking after myself” but John knew better, he knew it was just a front. So he'd got him out on another case, determined to prove nothing would change. The detective had seemed fine whilst he was in his element, dashing around, actually sitting and watching the Queen's guard whilst they sat there discussing John's old army major.

When he ran off the doctor couldn't help but sigh in relief. The old Sherlock was definitely back and maybe just maybe he would really be okay on his own.

John's next challenge was trying to get his best friend to be his best man. The flashes of guilt were back when Sherlock mentioned Mike and Greg, like he didn't know. Like he didn't think he deserved it.

When the day of the wedding came around Sherlock didn't comment when his brother checked in on him. Mycroft didn't even need to fight him into his suit.

“What is it, little brother?”

“John's gone.” Mycroft couldn't determine whether or not Sherlock was happy or sad about it.

“You mean getting married?”

“No. Moved out. Took Mary too.”

“You did always like being on your own, Sherlock.”

“When I had to,” he argued. “It'll be odd now.”

“I suppose I'll be seeing a lot more of you.” Mycroft just rolled his eyes. “Hadn't you better get a move on, baby brother?”

“You're coming too.”

“Oh no, brother mine, I have plenty of things to be doing today.”

“What, not even tonight?”

“John Watson doesn't want me there.”

Sherlock just shrugged and tweaked his tie. “Whatever.” He pushed passed his brother out the door. Mycroft just sighed, at least his baby brother was acting like nothing had ever happened, like no one had ever let him down. He could be grateful for that at least.

***

“This isn't a waltz, is it?” John asked, lightly.

Mary laughed.

“Don't worry, Mary,” Sherlock said reassuringly. “I have been tutoring him.” At least he had been of some help.

“He did, you know.” John grinned. “Baker Street, behind closed curtains.” He turned away from the detective and settled one hand on his wife's hip and the other in her hand. “Mrs. Hudson came in one time. Don't know how those rumours got started.”

Neither of the pair noticed the distant longing look Sherlock had on his face from that moment onwards, neither did either of them notice Sherlock heading to the exit minutes later where he grabbed his coat and scarf.

***

Mycroft was awoken by his rather incessant phone on his side table, the vibrations against the glass louder than the actual ring tone. He glanced at the screen. John Watson. Bloody hell. Sighing, he scooped the phone up, wishing that his job didn't require him to be available 24/7 and therefore leaving his phone off silent.

“John, I understand it is your wedding night but it's-”

“I know it's late Mycroft-” that most definitely wasn't John Watson.

“Mary?”

“Yes, John's driving. Is Sherlock with you?”

“Of course not. I'm in bed!” The British Government was annoyed now. Were they drunk? Obviously not John was driving. He could still be drunk… but he was a doctor he wasn't stupid, as stupid as the goldfish anyway.

“He left early, Mycroft. Does surveillance say he's at Baker Street?”

Mycroft sighed and rolled from the comfort of his bed. Bloody Sherlock.

“I do not understand why you needed to bother me at this time of night, so he left early. He's a big boy and on more than one occasion has told me to piss off for getting involved.”

“It's a danger night, Mycroft!” Mary was doing a good job of matching the older man's annoyance and he didn't need to be the most intelligent man on the planet to hear it.

Mycroft heard John shout a rather aggressive 'what' at his wife, clearly he hadn't been informed of Mary's hypothesis. He grabbed his dressing gown, slipping into it as he hurried down the stairs, a lot faster now.

“Not now John,” Mary growled.

Mycroft had logged into his computer and was finding the correct cameras.

“No, Mary. My brother is not at Baker Street. Baker Street is empty, did Mrs Hudson lock the door?”

There was a pause.

“I don't know Mycroft, Sherlock picked me up,” John's tone was worried now and he was speaking loudly so his voice would carry to the handset.

“If Baker Street is empty it is a danger night,” Mycroft concluded.

“What? Why?” The doctor’s tone was loud again.

“Think about it John. Gregory is at your wedding so he can't go to see him at the Yard. Miss Hooper is also there and Barts is locked up with security that even my brother won't bother tampering with. Mrs Hudson as we just pointed out is also not at home. Thank you for bringing this to my attention.” He began tapping on his keyboard, waking his men up, the plus side of running the British Government. Britain's best security detail at his beck and call. “Now haven't you got a honeymoon to be on?”

There was crackling as John obviously snatched the phone from his wife.

“John be careful!”

“I don't give a shit about the honeymoon Mycroft. We're married now, that's what matters. Do not even think of hanging up on us. We are going to help find your brother.”

“John…”

Mycroft heard John's hand hit the steering wheel.

“Babe, that's not helping,” Mary said calmly.

“It's helping me! How can you be so fucking calm?”

“I'll get my men onto it,” Mycroft said over the loud speaker. “Come to my club.” and then he hung up.

***

Sherlock was reminded why he had eventually agreed with Mycroft about rehab all those years ago. The feeling when you came back to consciousness was not worth the high… at the time at least. He refused to open his eyes and lay there, listening to what sounded like an argument. No no no… that's why he had left, that's why he had disappeared without a good bye. He knew Mary knew. He couldn't do that to them. All these years, he'd never had friends, never got involved and then he met John Watson, the most amazing patient man he'd ever met and then he screwed up again by disappearing for two years. But in those two years John had found Mary and Mary was the most amazing patient women he'd ever met. He couldn't be near John without regretting not making a move on him 3 years ago. Not sexually… but they'd had something, what more did he want? Regret wasn't something he was used to feeling. Maybe it wasn't love in the romantic sense but it was a deep heart set feeling that told him there could have been something more.

He couldn't live alone, he couldn't live without John Watson and now they had moved house, after the honeymoon they were going to keep away from him and he'd be left all alone, it was just easier to vanish again, without a trace, except this time he won't come back. But he'd got side-tracked and headed for the local drug den instead.

“You've known, John, you've always known.”

“I have not. And how do you bloody know anyway?” The doctor sounded angry, Sherlock screwed his eyes shut tighter. He didn't want this, this wasn't the plan. What happened to the plan?

“Last night.”

“Last night? Now who's showing off!” It sounded nothing like the way he said it when he was talking to Sherlock, there was no fondness now, just anger.

“When he told us that I'm pregnant. The way he looked at you. I wasn't sure up until then. About either of you.”

“Either of us?”

“You cupped his neck, John, the way you do me.”

The doctor swallowed hard, so it was audible for the detective to notice.

“You didn't know what to do or say, I saw the thoughts go through your head. If he hadn't have told us to dance I'm sure you would have kissed him.”

“On our wedding night.”

“That's my point, babe, the way you looked at each other for that brief moment, neither of you knew where you were.”

“But he laughed…”

“It was hollow.”

“How do you always know?!” John kicked the chair over that was beside the bed and Mary grabbed him by the shoulders.

“I'm your wife it's my job to know.”

“Exactly! My wife! Not his!”

If John hadn't have been watching Sherlock's still form at that moment he would have assumed the detective was still out cold but he saw the tense within his pale form and realised what he had said. “Mary, I'm sorry. Sherlock you might as well open your eyes I know you're back with us.”

“Go away, John.” Sherlock's voice was gravelly and very unsherlockian, he didn't open his eyes. Mary turned to the water machine, filling up a little plastic cup.

“Not going to happen, mate.”

His eyes slowly flickered open but he didn't catch the doctor's searching gaze, he did however gratefully accept the icy water.

“Private room,” he deduced. “Where's my brother?”

“Here Sherlock,” he said coming into the room, looking at a clipboard.

The younger Holmes brother was about to snarl a 'piss off' but his brother's posture, his face and his clothes said he'd been worried sick all night. He held the door open for another doctor to come in.

“Mr. Holmes, how are you feeling?”

“Great,” Sherlock muttered, sarcastically. “Can you get these people out of here?”

“I-”

“Ignore him, Doctor, his opinion is invalid.”

Sherlock glared at his older brother. “What right have you-”

“I have every right!” Mycroft snapped. “As have these two.” He indicated John and Mary. “You are going to live with me from now on.”

“What?!” He yelled. He was quite surprised he still had complete control of voice box.

“No need, Mycroft,” Mary interrupted. “We're moving back to Baker Street.”

“If you think we're leaving you now, Sherlock, you are sorely mistaken,” the doctor added at the younger man's astonished look.

“I don't want you around, John. You're with Mary now. She deserves you a damned sight more than I do. Like I said earlier, you have a baby on the way, you don't need me around anymore.”

“Oh Sherlock,” Mary sighed, she sat on the edge of the bed and cupped his cheek with her hand.

“Don't,” he said leaning away. He rolled over, facing the other way, he kept tugging the sheet up until Mary moved and then pulled it up and over his head, at the same time pulling the drip from his arm and throwing it from under the sheet.

“Sherlock,” John started but Mycroft cut him off.

“You need to leave that in Sherlock, else you'll get ill, something I'm sure you would despise further.”

The younger man said nothing.

“Sherlock Holmes, if we have to tie you to the bed to keep it in, we will.”

The detective sighed like he had the whole world on his shoulders but he didn't move.

And then it happened and it all happened so fast. Sherlock was there, sulking beneath the sheet and then suddenly he was gone. He rolled from the bed and landed with a thud on the floor, dazed slightly. When John came around mumbling a startled 'Sherlock!' The detective began to crawl under the bed. No one, including Mycroft, quite understood what happened next, as he made for the door and actually made it.

“Sherlock, kneel!” John barked. He hadn't ordered him to do anything in so long and he hadn't thought twice of the consequences even if Sherlock did obey.

The detective froze, his hesitance clear as he stopped at the door. Then he knelt.


	10. Chapter 10

“John, what are you doing?” Mary was staring at her husband in confusion.

John's hands were running through his hair that appeared to be going grey from just the last few hours of stress. He couldn't blame himself if he was. Getting married, finding out you were going to be a father, your best friend leaving your wedding early, cancelling the honeymoon, rescuing said best friend from a drug den, watching said best friend wake up from being comatose, and then watching him try to run away to 'fix things' would do that to anyone, let alone when he had said best friends brother who was also the British Government behind him, for once not saying a word.

Mycroft wasn't fairing much better when it came to understanding what was going on.

“What he needs,” John growled, walking towards the younger man. He knew right now that was exactly what he needed to do whether it made him greyer or not. “I've avoided this for far too long. This aspect of our relationship was the main aspect. We're friends, yes, but I was his dominant first and foremost. We had that for years. Suddenly trying to work out how our friendship is going to happen without that aspect is not going to work.” He looked to his wife, almost pleadingly. “If we move back to Baker Street this is what he needs. My time will be divided. I love you Mary, more than I can even put into words. But I love him too. Please don't make me choose between you because I have absolutely no idea which way I will go.” The doctor was trying his absolute hardest not to break down in a heap of depressed sobbing.

She sighed. “But I'm pregnant, John.”

“So? Being near Sherlock isn't going to make the baby come out green. Like I said I love you, as I will love our child and I get a baby will complicate things but we'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now I need to help him. I need to focus on what matters now, not what will in the future.”

The him was still on his knees by the door, his head was low, his shoulders rounded.

“Sherlock, Sherlock look up at me.” John tried cupping Sherlock's cheek, but his head was facing too far downwards.

Sherlock shook his head. He didn't know why he was kneeling or what he wanted, he couldn't bring himself or find the energy to care.

“Come on, let's get you back into bed.”

The detective didn't struggle as John pulled him up to his feet. He encouraged him over to the bed and lifted his feet up for him as he sat back.

Mycroft watched on, unsure whether he should be angry or pleased. Angry because this had clearly happened for a long time before Sherlock went away and he hadn't noticed and pleased because John had found a way to control his brother but through a choice made by both of them.

Mary was shaking her head. “John…”

“Please, Mary, please. He's my friend and he's hurting and I know what to do to fix it. But I can't if we're at loggerheads.”

“That's not what I was going to say,” her voice had an edge to it that the doctor didn't recognise.

“Then wh-”

“Hi guys! Are we all having fun?”

John and Mycroft turned to see someone that should not be there as much as Sherlock shouldn't. Someone who would no doubt make the last few months feel like a summer holiday.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock had finally been discharged from hospital. He was fully fit once again, physically at least. Mycroft hadn't wanted the hospital to allow him out until he was over the effects of anything he had taken or anything he had done since the evening of the wedding. The older Holmes hadn't liked the idea of Sherlock not being fully fit when he moved out in case something happened.

After a thorough discussion with Mycroft, John had convinced him that he had spoken the truth about moving back into Baker Street. He had made many offers to have everything moved over from their house outside of London to the flat, but John refused every offer. It would be quick and easy to do with his men, especially how long John had been staying there with Sherlock; it would be one less thing to worry about.

“I don't understand…” Mycroft was concerned and slightly confused when the doctor turned down another offer of assistance.

Sherlock was still in the ward he had been in for the best part of a week. Mary was helping him with his shoes as he seemed to be a bit… different. John sighed, a pointed look at where his best friend and wife were. “He needs to feel a part of my life, Mycroft. This is my fault. I thought he was fine with Mary, that he didn't need me in… in that way anymore, but I was wrong. I'm doing right by him now. He's going to help me move everything into the truck and then he's going to drive everything across town and help me unload it.” He raised an eyebrow as if daring Mycroft to argue.

The government official inclined his head; accepting. “I won't for one moment think I understand any of this, between you and him. I know you won't hurt him, I understand this is what he probably needs, your performance a few days ago shows that.”

“Thank you, Mycroft,” the doctor said honestly. “Your support means a lot to me. But more importantly, I think it means a lot to him.”

“Don't tell him that,” Mycroft's sentence was rushed out and quiet as the door opened and a fully dressed Sherlock in his suit appeared. Mary held the detective's case, which the doctor immediately took from her with a smile.

“Alright, mate?” He asked softly.

Sherlock's gaze flickered up to him and then to Mycroft. He nodded once, quickly, and lowered his head again.

Mary gave him a small shove out of the doorway, he stumbled slightly, but caught his footing well.

“Sorry, Sherlock,” she said hurriedly, “I assumed you would have anticipated it.”

“It's fine,” he muttered, following on after her and John. Mycroft made a point of walking beside him.

“I'm not going to try anything, Myc,” he promised, staring at his shoes.

“I know,” the government official's hand went to his shoulder… it was an unusual thing for him to do. It didn't feel wrong though.

Outside sat the black sedan. “After you, Sherlock,” the older brother held the door to the backseat for him.

The detective watched confused and slightly disheartened as John and Mary headed across the car park. Mary had kissed him quickly and John had actually ruffled his curls.

Mycroft climbed into the sedan beside him and the car pulled away. Sherlock didn't speak as they headed through the London traffic, his gaze alternated between watching the city pass by and staring at his shoes. He wasn't sure what to say or do, his brother was so rarely quiet, he almost wished for the insults back.

The younger Holmes masked his expression well when they pulled up outside Baker Street. He let himself into the flat and went straight upstairs. He'd left most of his stuff behind when he'd gone into Eastern Europe and that stuff had been gotten rid of over the last few years, so he didn't have much to pack up.

Mycroft pushed the door to the upstairs bedroom open. Despite the fact the Watsons had moved out many months ago, Sherlock had never reclaimed his room downstairs.

“What are you doing?” The elder Holmes asked from the doorway.

Rather than snarling 'don't be oblivious' he just glanced up. “Packing.”

Mycroft moved across the room and flicked the lid shut on his case.

“Why?”

“Why else are we here?” He replied softly, still gathering his clothes. “I highly doubt it's to say goodbye to Mrs. Hudson.”

“Correct deduction, Sherlock, but it's not to pack either, you live here.”

“I thought I was coming with you?” He didn't sound angry at the fact anymore, just resigned.

“Did you not hear John in the hospital?”

Sherlock's answer was interrupted by footsteps on the stairs. John's head poked in. “What's going on?” He had been grinning broadly, he couldn't tell Mary, but he missed living with Sherlock, he missed the flat, he even missed Mrs. Hudson's faffing around, but at the sight of Sherlock his grin slid from his face.

“John?” The detective questioned, confused even more.

“Yeah.” The doctor sidestepped into the room. “What's with the case? Mycroft!” He snapped. “What have you said to him?”

Sherlock let out a frustrated yell and kicked the case off the chair it had been resting on. He felt like his head was splitting in two and he sunk down on his bed. He brought his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

John crossed the room and sat next to him. “Sherlock, why were you packing?”

It took a bit of comforting and some persuasion, but eventually his head raised from his knee and John pushed his fingers into a clenched hand.

“Because I'm meant to be going with Mycroft.”

“No. You're not.” He shot a look over his shoulder at the government official.

“This is not my fault! I was trying to get to the bottom of the packing myself.”

“You must have heard me in the hospital? I said Mary and I would be moving back in, didn't I?”

“Yes, but I…”

“You what?”

“I assumed you didn't mean it. Why would you want to spend time here? It can't last forever, Mary won't want to bring up your child here, not with me. You may as well stay where you are and I'll go with Mycroft. Everyone wins.”

He shifted his grip so the doctor held both hands. “I meant what I said, I'm not choosing between you anymore. I'm going to stay here. With both of you.”

“But you didn't come with us.”

“From the hospital? No.” He got to his feet and held his hand out.

Tentatively, as if expecting him to shove him back down again, Sherlock took it and stood.

Mycroft watched, his eyes wet with emotion. Yes his brother looked whole, but they had upset him deeply; made him feel unwanted, unneeded. He didn't know how he could fix that, he certainly couldn't do it alone.

John took him to the only window in the bedroom and pointed outside. There was a large removal truck.

“Mycroft's men had it on standby. Mary and I went to the hospital in our own car, so she dropped me off so I could pick it up. I made a promise, 'Lock, I wasn't going to break it.” He wrapped his arms around him and tried to hold him in a hug, like he had before… before he'd jumped, but he stayed straight, unsure what he should do in response.

“I don't like this, John,” the detective said eventually.

“Don't like what?”

“You being here.” He pulled out of John's grip.

The doctor glanced up at Mycroft. “Would you mind giving us a minute?”

He inclined his head and stepped out of the room.

“Why don't you like me being here, Sherlock?”

“What about Mary?”

“Answer my question, Sherlock.”

“Mary's pregnant.”

He was clearly avoiding a sensible answer. “Holmes!” John barked. “Kneel!”

Sherlock flinched where he stood, but then fell to the floor. “Moriarty,” he whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

“What's Moriarty got to do with it?”

Sherlock clasped his hands together in front of him. Much like he had two years ago.

“You're not safe. Here. With me. I'll be safer with Mycroft and so will you at home.” He made sure he spoke to a spot on the carpet and not the doctor.

John fell to his knees in front of him and took his face in his hands, he tilted his head back slightly. “This is my home. That's not going to change. Not again.”

Sherlock couldn't help but argue. “But Moriarty-”

“Yes, he's back. Yes, you're going to stop him. But not right now. How much safer do you think Mary will be at the edge of town alone? Here she'll have Mycroft's surveillance and you while I'm at work rather than nothing.”

Sherlock opened his mouth again, but John saw the next line of the argument before he spoke it.

“Do you honestly think Mary won't be a target for Moriarty if she doesn't live here? Come on, 'Lock, you're better than that.”

There was no response as he stared at the floor.

“He could still hurt you by hurting her no matter where she lives, just like me,” John felt the need to explain it to him, but already knew that Sherlock was well aware.

The doctor could see the kneeling man beginning to believe what was being said, but there was something else, something still bothering him.

“You want me to punish you, don't you?” John asked with sudden realisation. “For the drugs.” As if the man hadn't been through enough… he wasn't really surprised he'd turned to drugs. They thought they'd quelled the need a few weeks ago, but all they had done was force him into it later on. He couldn't be blamed. He was an addict.

He wasn't surprised when the detective nodded once, but kept his attention on the floor.

“I think nearly a week in a hospital ward you hated was punishment enough. And anyway, I've got a much more important job for you.”

He went to the door and opened it for Mycroft, he entered at once.

The elder Holmes saw his brother on the floor, but didn't comment on it.

“You alright, 'Lock?”

Sherlock nodded, seemingly unable to speak. Since when did his brother ask him those sorts of questions?

“Come on,” John made it an order and held his hand out.

Cautiously, the detective moved forward to take it and the doctor tugged him down the stairs.

Mary was there and she looked oddly at the hands clasped together. Sherlock immediately jerked his hand free, hating himself more for upsetting Mary and taking the comfort John seemed willing to offer.

He took a step back, into the bottom stair. At that point he turned and tried to retreat back to the upstairs room that had somehow become his.

John snagged his collar to stop him from going anywhere, but it didn't matter anyway because Mycroft was there on the stairs and he didn't look like he'd be letting his little brother passed.

“I'm sorry, Mary,” Sherlock offered instead as the doctor spun him around. That received a frown from the blond.

“Sherlock?”

“John, I can't do this. You're married for Christ sake!”

John huffed, he'd had enough of the man telling him he wasn't worth his time.

“It's not up for discussion and it's not as if we're going to hop into bed together for a quick shag, is it?” At this point he didn't care if he was out of order, Sherlock needed to understand his importance in his life and Mary needed to accept that John could not choose between them and for some reason he did not want to.

 


	13. Chapter 13

“Get in the driver's seat, Sherlock.”

“But-”

John snagged his collar again before anyone could step out of 221.

“Do not argue with me. Go and get in the driver's seat.”

The detective sighed softly, noting the order for what it was. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” John nodded once and then gently pushed him towards the car. “Now. Get. In.”

Without further complaint Sherlock walked around the van and climbed in.

“Everything is in boxes, John, just like you said.”

The doctor turned from watching the younger man. He held his hand out. “Thank you, Mycroft.”

The government official, too, had been watching Sherlock. “No, John,” he inclined his head towards his little brother and took the blond's hand. “Thank you. Do not hesitate to call me if you need any help.”

John reached over to take Mary's hand as Mycroft walked away.

“How far is this going to go, John?” She didn't let him take her hand.

“I will not cheat on you, Mary,” John's head snapped over to look at his wife.

“Why won't you? You love him. You've told me yourself and he clearly loves you back.”

John glanced between Mary and Sherlock who was sat behind the wheel of the van, not moving.

“He's my friend. He is also asexual. He's tried it with both men and women and has hated both 'experiments' as he calls it.”

“But what if-”

“No,” the doctor pressed his finger to Mary's lips before bending over to kiss her. “You are my wife. I love you. But that does not make me love him any less. As a friend,” he clarified. “This is happening. It is no different to you telling me to 'run him' a few weeks ago.”

He tugged at her hand and dragged her towards the van.

***

“Stop being lazy, Sherlock. Pick it up.”

The detective had been stood, staring at the box of books and DVDs at his feet. He hadn't been in the house - mentally at least. He'd been thinking on the events of the last couple of days. The looks he had been getting from Mycroft and John. The way the blond doctor refused to let any of the nurses go near him. The way he could see the guilt that was in their eyes…

His ear was suddenly snagged and pulled. “Ow!”

John shook him. “Stop dilly dallying around!”

Sherlock glanced around the rest of the now-empty sitting room and tried to nod. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.” The room had had a dozen boxes in it when he'd stepped in. He felt guilty now.

“Pick it up,” the older man repeated. His voice was stern and yet soft. The tone only John Watson could produce.

Sherlock didn't have the guts to tell John to piss off. Not now. Not with him being in charge again. He didn't fancy the 'naughty corner' as John had dubbed it. It would be so embarrassing… even more so than it had been years ago. This time round, Mary would be there. She would see all the things he was punished for and all the ways said punishments were carried out. He was on his best behaviour. He would not mess up.

He bent at the knees and scooped up the box that was far heavier than he had anticipated. His deductions must have still been a bit off. He stood, awkwardly for a moment before John smiled gently. “Mary's waiting at the back of the van for it. Then come back here.”

“Yes, sir,” Sherlock repeated, moving out of the sitting room and down the hall way.

That was the way the afternoon went. Sherlock and John carrying boxes and the younger man following every order exactly. It was the most comfortable the detective had felt in months - years even.

At half 3 Mary had disappeared and John explained that she'd gone up the road to get them lunch. They'd had a late breakfast and were by now starving.

She returned shortly later with sandwiches and crisps. John had pulled out the flask from the front of the van with a small pot of milk and coffee.

Sherlock realised this whole afternoon had been planned down to the last minute.

Throughout the eating, Sherlock stared off into space and had to be reminded to eat a few times by John.

On the fourth reminder he was getting annoyed. “Come and sit here,” he ordered.

They were sat on rocks gathered in the garden, but there was room on his rock for one more. There was only enough space on he swinging chair for Mary and she was more than comfortable having that to herself.

Slowly, Sherlock gathered up his crisp packet and perched on the rock beside the doctor.

“I'm sorry, sir.”

“You know how I feel about you eating.”

The younger man stared at the crisps and went back to eating. “I wasn't doing it on purpose, sir. Honest.”

“Explain.”

Sherlock sighed. “It's been an odd couple of days. I was merely thinking about it.”

John turned to face him, “Cataloguing it in your Mind Palace, you mean.”

That got a smile. “Yes, sir.”

***

“Do you believe me now?” The doctor asked a few hours later when they were done with packing everything into the back of the van. He cupped Sherlock behind the neck, much like he had on his wedding night and made sure he was looking for his response as well as listening.

“Believe you?” The younger man's voice was confused, but he was trying to work it out.

“About moving back to Baker Street,” he clarified.

“That's what this has been about?”

“I knew you wouldn't believe it. Why do you think I kept telling Mycroft to bugger off with his help? His men boxed it all up and left it so we could do this. Together.”

Sherlock looked over to where Mary was closing up the back of the van. He heard the latch lock as the door slammed shut. Then she pulled her phone from her pocket to make a call.

“She is fine,” John reiterated, shaking him slightly. “Repeat after me. Mary is fine.”

It took a moment, but Sherlock complied, he wouldn't argue with him. “Mary is fine.”

“Good boy,” the blond offered soothingly. “Now get back in the van, we're going home.”


	14. Chapter 14

Home. Home had meant different things for Sherlock over the years. He had liked to think as of 3 years ago it meant the same for him as it did for John. He also hoped it felt the same. Baker Street had been very dull without the doctor.

In the passenger side of he car, John was sat with Mary sideways on his lap. He kissed her quickly, whispering an almost silent thank you in her ear.

“You better not be tired, Sherlock,” John muttered in the detective's direction.

He moved the wheel around to take the next left turn.

“No, sir.”

“You've got a lot of moving boxes to do.” He grinned as he spoke. Maybe he was finally getting through.

***

John sat in the front room, Mary curled into his side. He had missed Baker Street. The snugness of the place. How warm and cosy you could be in front of the fire.

“You were right, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“Sorting it with Sherlock. I would have regretted not bothering.” John watched the flames cracking in the fire.

“Of course you would have done.”

“You knew exactly what the friendship would entail if we sorted things.”

“I know. And I've been thinking. I want to be a part of it.”

John sat up to look at her properly. “What?”

“I'm not going to be the third wheel, John.”

“No one's said that-”

“If I'm not, that makes Sherlock. And he's in a bad enough state as it is. We need to be in this together.”

“Are you saying what I think you're saying?”

“I'll look after him like you do. But I'll keep him out of trouble more successfully too.”

The doctor leant down to wrap his arms around his wife.

***

“Are you done yet?” John yelled. He hadn't heard the front door open or shut for a while, so maybe the detective was unpacking some of the boxes.

“Go on,” Mary encouraged. She didn't know why her husband kept hesitating.

He went to the hall to investigate. It was full of boxes, so Sherlock had at least made an effort, but they were all still sealed, so he'd gone as far as bringing them in, but nothing else.

He opened the front door of 221 and saw the removal van still there, parked on the double yellows, he ran to the back and it was empty, but not locked. Of course it wasn't, that sort of thing wouldn't have crossed the detective's mind. He wasn't in the van… he looked up and down the street. It had been over 10 minutes since he'd last heard the other man. Bollocks.

“Mary!”

She joined him in seconds. “Yup?”

“He's done a runner.” John already had his phone out. He would contact Mycroft. The petulant brat's older brother might stand a chance of finding him without a temper standing in the way. How had he let him get away? Again!

“No, wait,” Mary paused his self recriminations. “He wouldn't just go.”

“And how would you know?” He glared at his wife, but she only returned it until he backed down.

“His face in the van earlier. He doesn't want to upset you.” She went back into the flat and ran up the stairs, first the seventeen and then the rest up until the second bedroom. Pushing the door open, she found Sherlock, headphones on, staring at the ceiling for no reason.

He glanced over to the door at movement and saw Mary. Immediately he ditched the headphones and scrambled to his feet.

“Mary? Can I help with something?” His deductions were on hold, they were no use to him anymore, only made people angry with him.

She smiled sweetly, trying to be reassuring before John caught her up.

His sigh of relief was clearly mistaken by the detective, Sherlock just saw the anger on the doctor's face. He dropped to his knees quickly, that was always safest. “I'm sorry, sir. For whatever it is I did.”

John just repeated his sigh and stepped into the room.

“Get up.”

He got immediate compliance and soon wrapped his arms around the younger man. Sherlock went stiff where he was held, unsure what was happening.

“Sir, I don't understand. What did I do-”

“Shh,” John interrupted. “You did nothing wrong. Like you did nothing wrong in your speech at my wedding. I was being stupid, that's all.”

“I meant it, you know.”

“I know, babe,” the doctor was close to tears. “I know you did. And then you left early.”

“I had no choice. It was for the best.”

John decided not to reply to that, instead he took his hand and tugged him to the door.

“Sit,” he ordered when they reached the sitting room. Mary went through to get them all some drinks.

Sherlock tried to drop to his knees, but the blond wouldn't let him. “No, sit. Not kneel.”

“Sorry, sir.” He sat where John pointed without another word.

“Why did you go upstairs?”

“I was out of the way, sir.”

“You didn't need to be out of the way, this is your home, Sherlock.”

“Yes, sir,” but it definitely didn't feel like it. There was still some unsolved animosity whenever he entered a room Mrs. Hudson was in, even if it was in B.

Mary came through with a tray and put it on the table, then the married couple sat either side of the detective making him feel even more awkward.

“Now, Mary and I have been talking, what would you say to her doing what I do? With you, I mean.”

Sherlock frowned. “Yes, sir,” he didn't want to argue, he didn't want to see that angry look of disappointment on his best friend's face.

“John. Just John at the moment. And that was far too quick, do you not want to think about this first?”

“No, sir.” If it made John happy, than he'd do it.

The doctor sighed and ran his hand over Sherlock's curls, trying to soothe some of the tenseness out of him, he wasn't succeeding.

“This is your choice. Mary has suggested it to help. It means we'll both be here for you if the other is stuck at work or is out and about somewhere.”

“You'll both punish me too,” Sherlock replied softly.

John looked away and wiped a hand over his face. “If it comes down to it, yes. You won't get away with cheek or a bad attitude with Mary like you don't with me. That doesn't mean she'll enjoy it anymore than I do.”

He nodded. “I understand, sir. If it's what you wish, I won't object.” He didn't know what would happen if he did.

The older man's eyes shut almost of their own accord. This wasn't going the way he had planned it.

“Would you object at all?” He sighed. His best friend was like a puppet, a human shell ready to do whatever he wanted with. It was like he didn't want anything anymore.

And this was all his fault.


	15. Chapter 15

Sherlock had managed to fall asleep on the sofa. He'd been laying there most of the day with nothing to do. All he could do was think on Serbia, think on everything that had happened there, everything he had missed while it had. 

Both John and Mary were out at the clinic. John was working and his wife was planning nursing cover that would be needed in a few months when she went on maternity leave. 

That left Sherlock home. Alone. At least he thought he was. The sound of footsteps on the stairs jerked him awake, but he couldn't tell who it was. He doubted it was John or Mary. They had said they'd be out for the day. It could be his brother, or it could be-

The door swung open and Mrs. Hudson bustled in. 

Sherlock swung his legs around and sat up straight in the chair. 

"Alright, dear?" She held a tray with a teapot, cups and saucers, milk, and biscuits.

The detective nodded jerkily, "Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"I didn't think you would have made yourself something." She pulled some sandwiches from the basket that she was also carrying. 

"How's John?" The landlady asked, trying to get him to talk to her or just talk in general. 

"Fine, Mrs. Hudson. I think he and Mary are enjoying being back in Baker Street." I hope, he added silently. 

She smiled as she placed the tray on the table and reached out to touch his curls. 

The detective flinched away and then froze when Mrs. Hudson's breath hitched. 

"I apologise, Mrs. Hudson, I didn't mean… I'm sorry."

"There's nothing for you to be sorry about, Sherlock." But privately she was quite hurt by her tenant's reaction. Not because of what happened, but the reasoning behind it. She had scared him. Scared him and hurt him and if he was in his right mind he wouldn't be so… avoiding of touch and more likely to tell her to piss off. She found herself wanting him to do that. She would never forgive herself for hurting him with her frying pan. It had been out of order, but Sherlock had just accepted it. 

She passed him his sandwich, "Why don't you tuck into that and I'll sort you some tea?"

"It's fine, Mrs. Hudson, you don't need to go through the trouble, not on my account."

Her heart pulled in her chest and she could feel the guilt competing with shame.   
The man that had left hadn't returned. What had was a version of Sherlock that was so far from normal, it was painful to watch. It was hard to tell how much of this 'new' Sherlock was because of what had happened while he was away or because of what had happened since he'd been back in London. 

After pouring him some tea she quickly made herself scarce. He'd suffered enough, he didn't need to be made uncomfortable in his own flat. 

***

John rushed up the stairs into 221B and charged into the flat. Spotting it empty almost immediately made him turn on his toe and head up to the spare room. 

Sherlock was sat in the chair in the corner, his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his knees. He was rocking slightly, but silently. 

"Mrs. Hudson phoned… you alright?"

"Yes, sir. Fine, sir."

John sighed and stepped into the room more fully, letting the door close behind him. 

"She said you flinched when she came in to check on you."

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."

The doctor sighed yet again. "Why are you sorry?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "I don't know, sir. Because I was in the wrong?"

As he walked across the room, the younger man forced himself out of the chair and onto the floor, to his knees. 

"Babe… Sherlock, you don't need to keep kneeling for me. You haven't done anything wrong."

"You're home from work, sir. Early. I must have done something wrong."

"I'm concerned about you. Mrs. Hudson was worried. Now get back up into the chair where you can be more comfortable. Maybe it was a mistake to leave you home alone so soon."

"It's fine, sir. I don't want to be an inconvenience." He glanced at the clock. "Hadn't you better head back, sir?"

"Mary's covering for me. Since when did you care about that sort of thing?"

Sherlock bit his lip. "I'm sorry, sir. I've disrupted your life enough. Don't you think it would be much easier if I just kept out of your way?"

John shook his head sadly and crouched in front of him, his arms held out so he could wrap his arms around him. 

"Nonsense. You haven't disrupted my life at all." But he could tell Sherlock wasn't convinced. 

"I should go downstairs, sir. Apologise to Mrs. Hudson."

"She told me you had already apologised more than enough for things that weren't your fault. It's not the end of the world that you flinched, babe. We just need you to get your confidence back."

"Not really, sir."

"No? Why not?"

"It's easier for you if I'm like this. I keep out of your way and-" 

He cut off when the door downstairs shut. 

"Who's that?" John asked of the younger man, he'd be able to deduce it, surely?

"I don't know, sir."

The blond closed his eyes and then helped him up to his feet. He took his hand and led him to the door. "Come on. And I think you should stop calling me 'sir'."

The detective whimpered brokenly, "John, I don't… I didn't… I'm sorry, I'm trying to be good."

"Shh," John whispered, now more than convinced Sherlock was suffering from PTSD. "You are being good, very good, I just think we need to be on a level setting."

"John?" Came a call from downstairs. "Sherlock?"

"Coming, Mary," the doctor called back. "Come on, 'Lock. I saw the food on the table, you clearly didn't eat. I think it'd be best if you did."

"Yes, John."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to Mary's untimely demise and my fake indifference I've decided to take this fic in a different direction

"What's happened?" Mary asked from the bottom of the stairs, when the pair appeared at the top. 

"Nothing, Mary," Sherlock said quickly, he jerked his hand from the doctor's grip, ran down the stairs and walked through to the sitting room, leaving the other two in the hall. 

"John?" She questioned, not believing the detective for a moment. 

"You know why I came home." He closed his eyes in thought. "I'm worried this is about his little holiday."

"Still?"

"PTSD doesn't just disappear, love."

"I never said it did. God knows, I know. But he was getting better. I thought we were helping him get better."

John dry washed his face and nodded. "I can't get through to him. He doesn't understand. It's like he's incapable of understanding."

Mary squeezed his arse and pushed him in the direction of the front room. 

When they caught the detective up, Sherlock was sat in his armchair, arms wrapped around his knees. 

"'Lock?" The doctor tried. "What is it?" This was becoming tiring and exhausting, not just for him but Mary and Sherlock too. 

Sherlock glanced over and could clearly see it on his face. 

He got to his feet at once, panicking that he had screwed up again. He kept screwing up. Making John angry, making Mary mad. Neither of them deserved this, he couldn't work out why they had come back to Baker Street. 

"Sherlock, we need to talk. About your time away," John clarified. 

He shook his head, no! They could not and would not talk about it. Instead, he shoved John back so he fell into the sofa and tried to take off out the flat. 

He managed to get out of the room, but Mary caught up with him easily. Before he could leave the flat completely, she threw him into the wall beside the doorway. Then pulled his arm around behind him and forced the side of his head into the wall, keeping him pinned their easily. Too easily. 

Sherlock fought for a moment, more out of shock, but then gave up, heaving deep breaths, he didn't want to hurt Mary and he didn't want to hurt the baby. 

Which was clearly John's thought as he caught them up. 

"Mary! You'll hurt yourself."

"I'm a few months pregnant, John. Not 8 months. And even if I was 8 months, it wouldn't make me an invalid."

But she let the detective go. Sherlock didn't move for several seconds, he knew if he made for the door again Mary would grab him and hurt herself. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't stay here. He took off again and Mary couldn't stop him. 

"Come. Here," John ordered sharply. 

Sherlock couldn't ignore that tone of voice. He immediately walked back towards the doctor and fell to his knees before him. John crouched down and cupped his cheek. 

"Sherlock, I'm worried you're suffering from PTSD. All of this," he waved his hand around, "is because of it."

The detective stared at his hands that were resting in his lap. "Sorry."

John shook his head. "No, Sherlock. No. It's not your fault. It happens. But we need to find a way to deal with it. Together."

Mary joined them and decided to take over. "Sherlock, do you think pushing John out of the way earlier was acceptable?"

John immediately wanted to intervene, but the nurse shook her head, silently telling him to butt out. 

Sherlock looked up in sudden understanding, a smile actually tugged at his lips. "No, Mary."

"No. It wasn't. Now, I think you should go and kneel in the corner for a while and think about what you did. Then we'll have this much needed conversation."

"Yes, Mary."

Sherlock actually crawled out of the hall way and through the front room to the empty corner.

John stared after him, gobsmacked. "How did you do that?" 

"He feels the need to be held accountable for his actions. The more we make that happen the more he'll speak to us."

John didn't know what to say, just leant forward and kissed his wife. "You are brilliant." He took her hand and held it for a moment, waiting to see if they'd hear any sign of non-cooperation. 

"It seems to have worked," he spoke after a while, "but how do you know that?"

Mary smiled sadly. "Doesn't matter. Come on."

Sherlock was knelt upright in the corner when they entered the sitting room. His hands were behind his head. John's eyebrows raised even higher. 

"How long?" He whispered in Mary's ear. 

His wife shrugged. "I'll know." She just didn't know the exact time Sherlock would relax. 

They sat together on the sofa, Mary across the doctor's lap, her arms around his neck. John pecked the nurse on the lips continually while she watched the corner. Watched Sherlock. 

Just as Sherlock began to slouch she nodded to herself before John noticed. 

"Sherlock," she called over. 

The detective slowly turned around, a sheepish look on his face. 

"Come over here. Kneel in front of us."

Mary slid from John's lap with a smile as Sherlock moved over and ducked his head. 

There was an awkward silence until Mary elbowed John in the ribs. "You're forgiven, Sherlock," he managed to say. Something so minor had had such an impact on the man, but now he sighed in relief. 

"Come up here," Mary patted the seat between them with a grin. 

John was much surprised when Sherlock not only obeyed, but rested his head on the nurse's shoulder. 

Mary blew into the younger man's ear and he chuckled slightly. "Feeling better now?"

He nodded and found his eyes drifting shut. 

"Sleep, Sherlock," she said softly. "We'll talk properly when you wake up."


	17. Chapter 17

'The talk' had been terrible. Sherlock had hated every minute of it, but at least he had stayed in the room without trying to bolt.

Both Mary and John had been extremely patient and John had prescribed him some sleeping tablets. He'd admitted he hadn't been sleeping, but that's as far as his confessions had gone. 

"I'll have Molly drop them round. Do you want to go to bed now?"

Sherlock shook his head slightly.

"That's ok, you don't have to. You've got to remember that this flat is just as much yours as ours, ok?"

He nodded, though he didn't believe it. Nothing was the same anymore. He could honestly say Serbia was easier than this. 

"You're not speaking, babe, what is it?"

"Nothing," he whispered. He got to his feet and walked across the room to the table where he gathered up his violin and stood at the window to play.

***

As the days moved on, Sherlock left the flat more and more, but he didn't make it easy for his flat mates to keep a track of him. It was obvious he wasn't making it purposefully difficult, however. 

"Why do we need to follow him, John?" Mary pressed her husband against the wall when Sherlock stopped for a moment. 

"Because he's up to something."

"He's just gone for a walk. That is all."

"No. It's not all. He hates going for walks."

He had stopped and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. He stared at it for a while. John wanted nothing more to intervene and snatch it off him, but if they showed themselves, Sherlock would likely bolt. 

He sighed in relief when the cigarette went back into his pocket, but then he took off in a hurry again. 

"Shit," John took Mary's hand. "Come on."

The pair were most surprised when they found themselves opposite New Scotland Yard. Sherlock didn't hesitate, just walked straight through the doors and disappeared. 

"We can't follow him in there without him knowing about it."

"Why is he here?" The doctor questioned, sitting on a wall opposite the station. "If there was a case we would have known. And he wouldn't have walked, he would have got a cab."

***

"Mate, I've got nothing that would interest you."

Sherlock sat opposite Greg in his office. "Anything that wouldn't?"

Frowning, Greg leant forward. "I've got 4 cases at the moment. A misper. 2 burglaries and a fraud case."

"How old's the missing person?"

"19."

"Can I see?"

"You sure?"

Sherlock nodded. "I'll help if I can."

Frowning even more and not really understanding, Greg got to his feet and walked to his office door. "Donovan, fetch us that misper file and a couple of coffees."

"Gov-"

"Now, Donovan."

He closed the door with the heel of his shoe. 

"You alright, mate? I haven't seen or heard from you in days."

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, you look shattered."

"I'm just not sleeping."

"Why not?"

The verbal answer was blocked off by a knock at the door. He hadn't told anyone the real reason why he couldn't sleep - John. Since he'd taken over bossing him about again, he could hardly sleep without him. 

"Yep," Greg called, watching his friend closely. 

"That file, sir. And coffees."

Donovan placed the DI's down gently on his coaster, but slammed Sherlock's down into his lap. "Here, freak."

The detective's eyes widened, barely moving as the scolding coffee seared through his trousers. He stared at it in shock. 

"Donovan!" Greg barked, getting to his feet immediately, that was far too far. Sherlock had only been sat there. 

Sherlock flinched more at Greg's voice than at the coffee coating his legs. 

Donovan had been about to laugh, looking forward to the reaction, but she didn't get one. Sherlock had just pressed himself into the back of his chair and moved his gaze to the floor. 

"Go home, Sally. Do not return until you are ready to apologise to Sherlock."

"I-"

"Now! Sherlock, mate, you ok?"

He averted his eyes awkwardly. "I'm fine. It's just a bit of coffee."

Greg had grabbed up some paper towels and helped dry him off. 

"It's alright. Can I?" He pointed at the folder and Greg frowned, settling back into his chair behind his desk. 

"Sure." Since when did Sherlock wait until he had permission? He usually barged on through. He seemed even more… cowed now than he had when he'd returned from Serbia. 

Sherlock examined some crime scene photos of where she'd last been seen and then read witness statements. 

"I think you are likely to find a body."

"How so?"

"She's being followed… and I know this man." He dropped the file on the desk in front of the DI and pointed to the man that appeared in many of the photos. 

Greg couldn't believe the stupidity of whatever copper had gone through this lot - clearly missing the obvious. But why wasn't Sherlock pointing that out?

"Where do you know him from?" He asked instead. 

"I'm not sure. But it's not good… hold on, he was on the news about a month ago. He was in court… rape, I think."

"What makes you think we'll find a body?"

"Where the images stop."

***

John and Mary sat outside the Yard for hours, waiting. 

"What's he doing?" John grumbled, picking at a few loose stones on the wall. 

"Handing himself in?" Mary joked, lightly. 

"Don't even joke about that. The way he's been acting… I wouldn't put it passed him." His phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen. 

Have you been rumbled? - MH

"Mycroft wants to know if we think we've been caught."

"I get that Sherlock's a genius and everything, but he didn't look over his shoulder once on the way here. He doesn't know we've been following him."

They glanced up at movement, Greg came out of the front towards his car, Sherlock following, tapping away at his phone. He looked up and said something to the Inspector before climbing in the passenger seat. 

When the car pulled away, the doctor turned to his wife. There was no way they could follow him now. He glanced at his phone again. No missed calls or messages.

John hit the ring button and held his phone to his ear. The call was declined immediately. 

"He hung up."

"Have you upset him?"

"What? Since the last time he came home and sat, not talking for 3 hours before going up to bed?"

"Try the DI."

John shook his head. "He'll be driving. We might as well go back home and wait."

***

They waited even longer at Baker Street than they had outside the Yard. 

John sat with his head on Mary's lap, truly understanding what it was like for Sherlock to be continually bored. 

Eventually the door opened and the detective slumped in. 

Rather than enter the sitting room, however, Sherlock went upstairs. 

Getting to his feet, John followed him. He walked in on Sherlock changing his trousers and saw the large red mark on Sherlock's upper thighs.

"Jesus."

Sherlock's head snapped up, "John."

"What happened there?"

"Coffee. I spilt coffee, it's nothing."

"It doesn't look like nothing. It looks sore as hell. And you spill something-"

"It's fine." Sherlock slipped into some different trousers and threw the dirty ones in the hamper. 

"What have you been up to today?"

"Went to see Greg," he sat on the edge of the bed and slipped his shoes back on.

"Case?"

"Yeah. Missing girl. We found her body a few hours ago."

"Why didn't you call?"

Sherlock looked up. "You were with Mary."

"So?"

"John, enough!"

"What?"

"I'm not doing this anymore. Taking you away from her, it's not fair. On any of us."

"Mary's fine with it. She wants it to happen. So do I. How many times have I-"

Sherlock shook his head. "Well, I don't want it. I've had enough of tiptoeing around the pair of you. This won't work. I was stupid and naive thinking it could. I may deserve it, but I'm fed up of feeling guilty when I don't call you and guilty when I do. Today proved I can look after myself, like I have always done. I'll pack a bag and get out of your way."

***

Sherlock knocked on his brother's apartment door. It was Greg who opened it.

"Sherlock?"

"I um…"

Greg noticed his bags. "Come in, mate." He stepped out of the way and held the door wide. 

"Can I stay for a bit? Until I find my own place?"

Mycroft came in from the kitchen. "Sherlock. What are you- ah. What's happened?"

"Nothing. I'm growing up."

Mycroft frowned, John's tailing abilities left a lot to be desired. "You can have your old room back." He glanced at the DI. "If that's ok?"

Greg nodded. "Sure, babe," he pecked Mycroft on the cheek. 

Sherlock bent down and scooped up his bags before heading off upstairs. He hadn't seen his old room since he was a teenager. 

A new start.


	18. Chapter 18

Next part of the story is up, follow the link…


End file.
